


As Previously Mentioned It Is Your BIRTHDAY, Which Means It Is Time For COPIOUS ALCOHOL.

by MadameWaffleCakes



Series: Like Breath On A Mirror [4]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Drunk John, Gen, M/M, angsty windy boi, caliborn has grown up in the last millenia or so i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-03
Updated: 2018-06-03
Packaged: 2019-05-17 14:48:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14834324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadameWaffleCakes/pseuds/MadameWaffleCakes
Summary: John’s birthday is always kind of rough. Luckily, he can still try to numb himself.Fluff. A somewhat emotionally matured Caliborn takes care of his fellow (almost) Masterclass player.





	As Previously Mentioned It Is Your BIRTHDAY, Which Means It Is Time For COPIOUS ALCOHOL.

**Author's Note:**

> did i mention this series is currently not in cronogical order at all?

Your interractions are sporadic and all over the map emotionally.  
The two of you were fighting, right from the start.

That was.... You think six years ago?

Well, to nearly everyone else, it was.  
It may be more-or less, depending-for your fellow time players. But for you, your sburb session started longer ago than you can count for.  
Not that time is an easy thing to count when you're stuck in some arrangement from hell like Lord English. It's....quite the discomfort to any time player to suddenly be so discombobulated in your current position in _your own aspect_ and--

You stop yourself there. Those thoughts are unwelcome in any circumstance other than venting. At least, if only for _today._

Thinking about those days where you were _so fucking stupid_ for wanting that, it's....  
You-like many others, you realize-made very stupid choices at eleven.  
Neither of these feelings is here nor there right now.

Six years ago (to everyone else) you met this guy and you were instantly scrambling with each other.

 

But now?

 

Presently, you're holding his stupidly long hood back while he's throwing up after a night of drinking like the world was ending all over again.

"Fuckin sssstupidass game fuckin rUINED EVERYTHING--oh god" He interrupts himself with more throwing up.

"You know, to anyone else, i would say something about hating the feeling of not getting the chance to breathe between heaving some more." You casually muse as you pet the back of his neck, weakly attempting to move his attention elsewhere.  
"Haaaaaah. Ffffuckyou."  
"Ah, yes, I hadn't considered that."  
"Go ffffuckin take your godfffuckindamn Dirffffk refrences and shove it up your ffucking ass!"  
You sigh fondly. "Would if I could, bitch."

He stops a second to snort out a little laugh, and then groans at the acid that just forced up his nose.

"Oof. That was a bad dessscision."

"Here." Is all you say before reversing time on his sinuses. 

"Oh shshit.... Thanks, man."

"No problem." You give a weak half-smile and an even weaker thumbs up.

"Can you lifffghk.... Everything else....."

"No, not without it coming up anyway, as it would reverse too."

"Ughhhhh....." His stomach gives a sound of complaint, and he coughs again, but nothing comes up.  
"Head hurt....."

"Now that, i can do something about." You stand up, letting go of his hoodie.

"Mmmmph?"  
"Give me just oooone second."

True to your word, you are indeed back in one second.

"Here. Headache meds. I've already got time stopped around them, so i can feel where they are. I'll speed those up until it gets dissolved. You'd still have to wait a couple minutes, but it's not a fuckin half hour at least."  
His eyes are cloudy and teary with alcohol and the force he was upchucking said drinks with earlier. "Thaaaaank you.... Urrrgh...."  
He throws them back without anything to drink, and you'd be concerned if choking or blocking a lung's air supply still meant anything to him.

You quickly do your thing with the dissolving and gently help him to his feet, moving to his living room.

"Wanna play kirby's epic yarn? It's really soff and easy on the eyes."  
"Yeah..... Yeah.... Immmtempted to like;;;; asphyxiate myself so i can regen without this headache, though."

You frown. Sure, it's not uncommon for either of you (or Dirk or Rose for that matter) to do something like that, but it's still got some level of remaining morbidity. 

"Dude, didn't you want to like, stay drunk enough to not feel feelings?" You point out as you set him down on the couch and turn on the wii. 

Well, whatever he's planning on doing, you're still gonna be playing it yourself.

"Well....." He rolls his shoulders and something pops, making him sigh. "I mean....yeah. Buuuut iff i just threw it all up, immm gonna sober up preeetty soon. In like a little more than an hour, profafly...."

"Profafly?" You cockily ask, and you _know_ the both of you can feel half a blip of pranksters gambit flitting into your court at the beck of the immediate teasing.

"Shut up." He's smiling and you can hear it in his voice so clearly, even if you couldn't see it.

"And as for wasting the headache meds?"  
"Who needs 'um."  
"Uh, Karkat." You ephetically gesture in the vague direction of your mortal friend’s hive.

".....True, buuuut im prolly gonna ride this out. Ifffff it wears offff before im done having a migraine, though, then imfuckin....dddoin it. The thing. You're jusss gonna have to declappitate me." He slumps over on the couch. 

There's still one person-sized space left unoccupied by either lithe gay snake ass or drunken nerdboy face in the center of the couch, and you flop down sideways there.

Your chin rests on the cushion, (much to the mild discomfort of your neck). His hair is close to your face, messier than usual and moving everytime he breathes.

You absentmindedly watch the hump of his back over the armrest rise and fall with his intake and expelling of oxygen, almost hypnotized to sleep by the rhythymic stimmy sight in motion.

You suddenly remember that you’re very easily distracted, and roughly offer him a wii controller.

“Come on. Are you gonna sleep, or are we gonna double-tap yarn race while I make ‘turn into a car, Morty’ jokes.”

John’s head moves groggily. His glasses make a tink against the remote and he groans lowly.

You back off and just awkwardly stare at him.

Blue eyes level with you. “.....Did you jussss capatchalouge the wiimote....”

You blink. “Shit. Gonna have to pester Calliope—“

It’s back in your deck in a moment with a post-it note attached with some emoticons drawn out onto it.

Why does she write so well, even when fast? You thoughtlessly wonder with a sigh.

“Gimmee....” John groans, buck teeth making his accompanying pout look a little bit bigger.

“Kay.” You gently respond, pressing the side into his little grabby hands.

“Yaaaaay. Caaaaaliborn.”

You can’t help but smile and chuckle. He’s out of it, it’s funny, yes. But it’s also how he’s the only one that uses your full name often, and it sounds nice in his goofy, sleepy voice.

“Yaaaay John. Happy birthday, man.” You immediately see him frown. “I....know it’s tough. Especially the ‘being-a-god’ stuff. But i’m glad your dumb ass is alive. Okay?” You give him a warm,gentle smile.

“....Okay.”

You don’t comment on the sadness in his voice.

-

The fluffy blobs with your respective eye colors pastellized and soaked into yarn are idlily jumping rope in the treat land hub map when Dave checks on you two in the morning. 

He lets you sleep, leaving the soft music and dimmed tv on with a fond head shake.

..Beeefore coming back with an apple juice and picking up where you left off singleplayer.

He reclines in the leftmost person-sized cushion. Not daring bothering the two of you drunkenly tangled and at the same time sprawled out all over the two remaining seats.

John will most likely be happy to wake up to a game without cake textures all over the screen.

**Author's Note:**

> annother late 4/13 release.
> 
> obvious rick and morty refrences and incredibly vague game grumps refrences? alriiiiiight!  
> that is most definitely my kind of self indulgent flashforward fluff. trash.  
>  ~~‘that is defintely my type of self indulgent—‘ how can self indulgence not be ones own type. redundancy police wants to know your location.~~
> 
> probably will be continued by more fluff. in the future.
> 
> distant orz


End file.
